


Pines in the Winter

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Assassins & Hitmen, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel hadn't meant to add kidnapping to his long list of crimes, but there was a boy with a black eye and a knife. Some things were just meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pines in the Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2014 Gabriel Big Bang. Thanks to Noxlupi to the beta. 
> 
> You can see Luo's beautiful art work here: http://paper-luo.tumblr.com/private/83816486756/tumblr_n4lbm9XDK71stlu2q

The snow flurried down that endless road between the rows of pines. In the passenger seat, the boy slept with his head against the window and his right hand curled around a knife. Gabriel hadn't meant to kidnap him. Usually after a job, he washed the blood from his hands then set off home blissfully alone. 

It wasn’t like Gabriel to take on responsibility voluntarily, especially one as weighty as a child’s life. If anything, he had spent the majority of his adulthood trying to avoid such a fate. His isolation among the flat stretch of pines was hard won and long desired. If he wanted to see other people, he’d take the half hour drive to town or another hour to the cluster of buildings that laughably advertised itself as a city and even that he only rarely indulged in. A youth of too much booze and loud music had left him over sensitized to other people. 

The boy with his knife tore through the quiet even now, just the wheeze of his breath a shattering sound as the snow hushed the world up tight. Gabriel guessed him at three or four years old with all the authority of someone who had once been a child himself. Far too young to clutch at a blade surely, let alone hold it out in meager defense of the man he’d just watched murder someone. 

Gabriel was good at his job. He was paid well to wreak vengeance on the wicked. He didn’t wear all black or use a silencer. He just waited as he idled in a nondescript car and ate his annoyance in greasy fast food. Even now the wrappers lay in a drift that nearly reached the boy’s dangling feet. 

Gabriel was careful. He paid attention to detail. He had a rare deadly kind of patience usually only seen in snakes. When his recent quarry was finally alone and asleep, Gabriel had walked through the backdoor and slit his throat with a rolled up t-shirt muffling the potential scream. He should have been able to leave as easy as he came in. 

Instead there was the prick of a blade at his back. He had turned, ready to cut down whatever dared to get the drop on him. The ragamuffin with long hair barely knee high to Gabriel, stared solemnly up at him. 

“Kiddo,” Gabriel leaned down and let the boy’s blade dance over his throat. “sorry. Didn’t know you were here.” 

The kid had hazel eyes and a button nose. He’d be cute in another life, another house where there wasn’t a rim of bruising under one of those wide eyes. 

“He hurt you?” Gabriel asked softly. The boy hesitated and then nodded, very slightly. He hadn’t seen the boy through his weeks of surveillance. Not once had he even had a hint that a child lived here. Where had he been stashed? “Well. He won’t anymore. Okay?” 

Gabriel could have called social services right then. Maybe the boy could identify him, but probably not. He was just another stranger, a blur of hair and ordinariness. Maybe the kid couldn’t even talk properly yet and Gabriel could become a passing night terror to be recounted to a bored shrink. 

The boy let the knife tip drop. Then he began to shake. It was an all over tremble, but he didn’t make a sound. It was fear, the kind of bone deep terror that Gabriel knew all too well. A fear that swallowed down and smothered all the good in you until it turned to hard pearl of anger. 

“Was that your dad?” He asked carefully. 

“No,” the boy’s eyes widened. “Daddy left.” 

A wiser man, a man who knew children, might have asked another question, but Gabriel only had his own abandoned past and enough issues to start a weekly periodical to aid him. 

“Mom?” 

The boy shrugged and the trembling grew fractionally worse. Gabriel stopped thinking. It was something that happened sometimes, a gut instinct that saved his life or landed him in the worst kinds of trouble. He picked the boy off the floor and walked out of the house with him. He let the knife, an ordinary kitchen blade and probably half-dulled from time, stay in the boy’s hand. 

Instead of going to the authorities or finding a real adult, Gabriel had skipped over rationality entirely to take the boy to his house. He didn’t bother lying to himself that he would eventually do either of those saner things. His home was different than his face. If the boy set foot there, then he could potentially lead the hounds of war to Gabriel’s door. Taking this child over his threshold was as good as a promise to himself. One way or another, the boy was his now. 

The driveway, barely visible with the snow whipping across the desolation of trees, beckoned. The boy stirred awake. 

“What’s your name?” Gabriel asked first thing, embarrassed that he’d forgotten to inquire before. 

“Sam,” the boy watched Gabriel carefully, tension in every muscle now that he was awake enough to fight. Only the exhaustion had laid him low before. 

“I’m Gabriel.” 

The earth crunched under the tires as they left behind the bare civilization of a paved road. Away from those flickers of black, the world was stripped down to white and an army of spiked green sentinels. If Sam was unsettled by the vision, he made no sign. He was watching and, Gabriel was certain of this, absorbing every detail. 

The house was close to the ground, a one story affair that borrowed wood from the trees that encroached upon it. Snow caked the roof and it barely made a dent in the unrelenting scenery. When Gabriel pulled up to it, he realized afresh how it looked like exactly what it was: a safe house for the sinister. He had chosen it for its isolated beauty and rather enjoyed it’s slasher film appeal. Now, it seemed a terrible choice, certain to raise Sam’s already blaring alarms. 

“I’ve got hot chocolate,” he offered lamely. There seemed to be nothing he could say that didn’t seem to come right out of a children’s afternoon special on how to avoid being bad touched. 

Sam opened the door and slide from the cab of the car. He followed Gabriel into the house, knife in hand. When Gabriel turned on the lights to reveal a far more homey living room than the outside presented, Sam actually looked more concerned. Maybe the worn brown leather couch, cheery yellow curtains and piles of blankets offered something that Gabriel couldn’t see. 

“Come on, kitchen is in here.” 

Sam watched as Gabriel lit the stove and heated the water. Milk would be better, but there was nothing perishable in the house. It had only taken one time coming home to the rank smell of rot to keep Gabriel cautious about such things. Sam waited for Gabriel to drink from his mug before daring to drink his own. It was a hard maneuver for one small hand and eventually Sam reluctantly put the knife down in easy reaching distance with a warning glare at Gabriel.

“That thing isn’t going to do you any good,” Gabriel decided and went out to the living room to catch his breath. He came back with the switchblade he usually hid between the couch cushions. He set it next to the kitchen blade, Sam’s eyes a palpable weight on him. “You press the button for the blade.” 

Sam picked it up, rolling the weight between his palms. With infinite care, he pressed the button and jumped only a little when the blade slung out. Then he pushed it back in until it clicked closed. He did it twice, then cast a quick inquisitive glance at Gabriel. 

“Smart little thing, aren’t you?” 

Sam said nothing, but his shoulders relaxed fractionally. 

There were no toys in the house, but Gabriel wasn’t sure that Sam would be the type to do much playing anyway. There was a television, an altar of noise that Gabriel regularly worshiped at. It stayed quiet just then, on that first encroaching night. Instead, Gabriel followed Sam’s quick darting eyes and drew down a book with a bright spine and the kind of illustrations that were both timeless and very old. Sam stayed in the doorway of the kitchen as Gabriel sat down at one arm of the sofa. 

“Once upon a time,” Gabriel ran a finger over the words that had once been indelibly etched in his memory, “there was a young god named Loki.” 

The stories were many, but Gabriel didn’t have to read them all. Sam moved closer and closer as the first tale was spun. Eventually, he climbed up onto the sofa and sat transfixed as Gabriel explained about the wall built high around Asgard and Loki’s clever trick to dupe a giant horse out of a deserved payment. 

When Sam’s eyelids grew heavy, Gabriel led him to the small second bedroom that he only ever kept out of perverse hope, and spread a quilt over white sheets. As an afterthought, he showed Sam the lock on the inside of the door. The boy could only just reach it, but the comfort in that tiny latch was clear. It clicked with finality as Gabriel left him to it. 

In the darkness of his own room, Gabriel could feel the slight shift in pressure. The way the silence of the house took on a different quality with another body present in the swaddling walls. There were too many things he didn’t have, too many questions with no answers, but Gabriel was very good at survival and he thought he might be able to manage it for two. 

~*~ 

The first few months were ugly trial and error. Sam had a hundred needs and was often reluctant to let Gabriel tend them. Bath time alone was a horror show that took weeks to unravel until Gabriel discovered the miracle of bubble bath. Apparently potential for drownings were overruled by fluffy bubble gum scented bubbles. 

Then there was the endless complication of meals, catered to a picky young palette. Gabriel had never considered himself a sophisticated eater, but he knew it required more than peanut butter, strawberry jelly, Lucky Charms and Kraft Dinner to survive. Sam wasn’t showing any signs of moving on the issue though. Even pizza received a nose in the air. Gabriel was half-convinced that it was an elaborate protest on Sam’s part. Some childlike attempt at a hunger strike. 

He was standing in front of a wall of blue boxes, defeat heavy on his shoulders when a worn out young woman came to stand beside him. Her daughter hung off her hand, tears tracked down her small face. 

“Please,” the girl begged with a weird whistling lisp. “Please Momma.” 

The woman tugged down an armful of boxes with a heavy sigh. 

“Mine too,” Gabriel told her and the woman turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Obsessed with the stuff.” 

“I think she’s going to turn into a cheesy noodle,” the woman shared a small smile with him before walking off, daughter trailing behind her. 

Gabriel looked down at Sam, who was examining the blue boxes with a disturbing greed. It hadn’t occurred to him that Sam might just be acting like a normal little kid. Which was boneheaded, but Gabriel cut himself some slack. Sometimes Sam acted like a feral wolverine, so it didn’t seem fair to compare him to the average brat. 

After that, Gabriel made an effort to read a few parenting books. He stopped trying to treat Sam like a tiny psych ward patient too and that helped in its own way. The sedate wood of the house bloomed bizarre plastic bouquets of fake food, Legos and a range of stuffed animals that stood sentinel at the foot of Sam’s bed. Sam’s hair grew longer, shaggy into his eyes and when Gabriel suggested a haircut, the look of horror he got in response was enough for him to put the scissors down. 

They settled into a routine: wake up, cartoons, breakfast, coloring, pretend cooking, bed jumping, lunch, nap, vague attempts at learning, errands and chores, dinner, cartoons, bath, Norse mythology as bedtime story, bed. 

The routine was good. The routine worked. The routine kept them both mostly sane. 

Which made it’s inevitable failures harder. Sometimes when Sam first got up, he wouldn’t allow the television to sway him into a zombielike condition. Instead, he would press himself up to front window and stare, desolately outwards. 

“What are you looking for, kiddo?” Gabriel asked. 

“Dean,” Sam put his forehead to the glass. “I want Dean.” 

Gabriel added ‘Dean’ to his increasingly obsessive trawl through newspapers and late night television watching. He even called in a favor or two, but not one came up with a damn thing. Whoever Dean was, he had let Sam go without so much as a call to the cops. None of that helped alleviate the sorrow on a small face though. 

“I know you do,” Gabriel would say. 

“Dean,” Sam would repeat and come away only when his stomach wouldn’t let him ignore the call of sugared cereal anymore. 

The winter released its grip on the pine barrens in stages. Sam and Gabriel started venturing outside, the call of muddy puddles apparently an ageless one. The first time Gabriel sent out a cascade of mud with a well timed leap, Sam looked so scandalized by the dirt on his face that Gabriel bent in two laughing. Tentatively, Sam reached into the mud then reached out and smushed it into Gabriel’s face. 

“Bad idea, kiddo,” Gabriel waggled his muddy fingers. “Gonna have to tickle you now.” 

“Noo!” Sam wailed, but he was laughing too and he let Gabriel pick him up to tickle him until he was nearly breathless with laughter. 

It was the first time that Gabriel thought this whole thing might actually work. That they could do more together than just survive. He got up the guts to reach out to a few other flies he’d caught in his web over the years and tapped them for falsified papers, so beautiful he nearly convinced himself they were real. The alias on his mortgage was simple and it wasn’t hard to attach a kid to Gabe Horn’s paperwork. 

Sam started kindergarten in the fall. His age was just a best guess helped along by four sticky fingers whenever Sam was asked. Gabriel figured Sam was clever enough to hack the wilds of Mrs. Pelican’s half-day classroom regardless. So what if Sam was a little smaller than the other kids? Being small had only served to thicken Gabriel’s hide after all. 

“He’s a little bit behind on speech,” Mrs. Pelican told him at the first parent-teacher conference. Gabriel could hardly believe he was sitting there. This time last year, he was robbing a body of breath and leaving it behind for the widow to find. Life was weird. “But he’s a strong reader. I worry about him socially.” 

“Yeah, he’s shy.” 

“I’m not sure shy is the correct word for it,” she eyed him suspiciously and he fought the urge to squirm. He was a grown man after all. “Suspicious comes to mind.” 

“Oh, well. Since his mother left...” 

Gabriel had stumbled on those magic words when he was filling out paperwork and they worked their spell now. Mrs. Pelican crumpled like a wet tissue and any negative thoughts she had about Sam melted into a slag of ‘poor little motherless thing’. 

Anyway, Sam’s social woes took care of themselves. Or Sam took care of them, if not intentionally. One afternoon, Gabriel arrived to pick Sam up and found him flanked by two sticks masquerading as other children. One had pigtails and the other, an all over nervous twitch that made Gabriel wince in sympathy. 

“Hello,” Gabriel got out of the car. Sam wasn’t paying much attention to either of the kids, just standing with his arms cross over his chest. 

“Are you Sam’s dad?” pigtail girl asked. 

“Mabye. Who are you?” 

“I’m Becky. I’m in the same class as Sam and blue is my favorite color,” she said rapid fire, then put her hand on Sam’s arm. “Sam saved my life.” 

“Mine too!” The nervous twitch chirped in. “I’m Garth.” 

“Oh, Mr. Horn!” Mrs. Pelican rushed over, hair escaping her usually tidy bun. “I’m glad I caught you. Sam had an interesting day.” 

“Apparently.” 

“Some of the older children got away from a substitute earlier today and got onto the playground with our class. I was at lunch, so I didn’t see the whole thing, but they were shoving Becky and Garth.” 

Gabriel just nodded. He could see how Pigtails and Twitch would be a siren song to a pack of riled bullies.

“Sam...well. We’re not entirely sure what Sam did, but he ran them off.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The recess monitor said she was approaching to take care of it and the third graders just scattered. Sam was standing there with his fists clenched,” she hesitated. “I don’t like to encourage violence in my students, Mr. Horn, but there’s no evidence that Sam actually hit anyone.” 

“I’m glad a full investigation was done,” he said gravely. She frowned at him, trying to figure out if he was mocking her or not. Gabriel kept his expression somber. 

“Yes. Um. So. I snuck him an extra cookie,” she flushed. “Honestly, he never asks for anything, Mr. Horn and he’s...he’s a very good kid.” 

“Oh,” Gabriel blinked. “Yeah. I guess he is.” 

Sam was still waiting patiently by the car when Gabriel left the newly awed Mrs. Pelican. Garth and Becky were orbiting around him, talking a thousand miles a minute. 

“Sam can come over to my house this weekend,” Becky informed Gabriel when he approached. “We can have a playdate.” 

“I’ll see if we’re not too busy,” Gabriel said seriously while Sam’s eyes widened in panic. 

“Here’s my phone number,” Becky offered up a scrap of paper with a scrawl of crayoned numbers on it. “My mom will say yes.” 

“Okay then,” Gabriel plucked Sam up and tucked up into the cab of the truck. “Say goodbye to your friends there, kiddo.” 

“Bye,” Sam whispered and ducked his head away when Becky and Garth waved frantically. 

“What happened?” Gabriel asked when they’d left the school behind. 

“They were being mean,” Sam shrugged and tucked his feet up under him. “So I was mean back.” 

“Good job,” Gabriel gave him extra ice cream that night. And called Mrs. Rosen. 

“Becky told me all about it.” Mrs. Rosen had a rusty laugh that Gabriel liked. “Sam has officially replaced Corey Feldman as her favorite person.” 

“That’s an honor, right there. What about this Garth?” 

“Oh, he’s a lovely kid. He made friends with Becky when they were still in preschool. They’re inseparable. The Fitzgeralds and us were going to take the kids to the county fair altogether this Saturday, actually. You’re welcome to come.” 

“Yes,” Gabriel agreed quickly. “I think that’d be great, if we aren’t intruding.” 

The crowds were tough for Sam, who stayed glued to Gabriel’s side for the most part. He ranged outward only when Becky latched on to his arm and pulled him this way or that to inspect a game booth or a new kind of dessert. Sam seemed intimidated by her near manic levels of devotion and it might’ve put them both off the whole experiment if Garth hadn’t had a far better approach. 

“Look,” Garth would say as he sat a foot or so away and offered Sam his discoveries: bugs, a dirty G.I. Joe and bites of sugary foods. It was a quiet supplication, a courtship dance that Gabriel found deeply amusing. At first, Sam took each of them suspiciously, but by the end of the day he was actively reaching out and engaging. 

The real winner was when Garth unearthed someone else’s dropped Transformers Happy Meal prize from a dubious pile of dirt. He showed Sam how it turned from truck to robot and it was a match made in Heaven. 

The three of them were involved in a heated debate about Carebears vs. Transformers by the end of lunch. Gabriel for his part, enjoyed the parental socialization immensely. The Rosens and Fitzgeralds were almost painfully normal. They asked him about his job (he became a freelance writer on the spot), politely didn’t mention Sam’s missing mother and explained the intricacies of the PTA politics. 

“Bit like visiting the zoo,” Gabriel told Sam later when they were on their way home. “They look like us, act a little like us, but they’re a whole other species.” 

Sam, who probably didn’t really understand any of that, concentrated on turning Optimus Prime back into a truck, making a soft sound of triumphant when everything clicked into place. Gabriel ruffled his hair and noted the redness of Sam’s nose. He’d forgotten the sunblock. 

The kids were a threesome from there on out. It changed Sam a little, broke away the silence that had a tendency to cling to him in a protective shell. He started picking up more and more on normal kid behaviors, even if they sometimes sat uneasily on him like an ill fitting costume. 

“Dean,” Sam would still sometimes sigh out in the morning when Gabriel woke him. 

“Sorry, kiddo. Just me.” 

Then came the dark night when Gabriel woke with certainty that someone was in his room. He froze, hand fisting around the gun he kept under the other pillow. He turned slowly, leveling the muzzle at the prickling sensation of eyes. 

Sam stared back at him, unblinking. 

“Jesus fuck,” Gabriel dropped the gun on the bedside table, after fumbling the saftey back on. “What’s wrong?” 

“I got scared,” Sam rubbed at his eyes. 

“Oh, yeah?” Gabriel sat up a little in bed. Usually Sam bolted himself into his room at night. There was no protocol for this. “What happened?” 

“I dreamed about fire.” 

“That does sound pretty scary,” Gabriel sighed. “I have bad dreams too sometimes.”

“What do you dream about?” Sam tentatively put a hand in the bed. 

“My past,” he reached out and pulled Sam up beside him. “Bad memories.” 

“Oh,” Sam closed his eyes, sinking down onto Gabriel’s pillow. 

“You can stay here,” Gabriel decided. “For tonight.” 

“Okay.” 

Gabriel stayed awake for a long time. It was distantly familiar, standing guard over a young child’s dream. He had spent a lot of time shoveling dirt over his past, but he couldn’t deny that maybe part of the reason he had taken Sam into his life was for a taste redemption. An apology to the wide eyes left behind in a dubious household that had left sticky clawmarks on his own psyche. 

When they woke in the morning, Gabriel’s eyes were gritty and his heart ached. Sam’s hair was mashed all up on one side and he was poking Gabriel’s nose. 

“Ugh,” Gabriel swatted lightly at Sam’s hands. “What?” 

“Can I have Lucky Charms for breakfast, Daddy?” 

Gabriel’s eyes snapped all the way open. Sam was holding himself tight, waiting for rejection. Fluffy haired, squinted eyes, nervous and sly as he tested this new water. He looked like a woodland predator, ready to kill or flee. 

“Yeah,” Gabriel rasped. “Yeah, little Fox. You can have whatever the hell you want.” 

The nickname just came to him, ready on the tip of his tongue as if to match his own new title.   
Becky and Garth seized on it the first time Gabriel used it in their presence. Inevitably it was picked up by the other kids and eventually even the teachers. Slowly, orphan Sam was washed away entirely and in his place was Fox, Gabriel’s son.

~*~ 

At ten, Sam even looked a little like Gabriel. Their hair was a matching thatch of sandy shagginess and Sam had taken to mimicking Gabriel’s easy strides. He’d also, unfortunately, taken up Gabriel’s directness. 

“Dad,” he said one afternoon when walked in the door, setting down his backpack. “Can I ask you something important?” 

“Sure, Fox. What’s up?” Gabriel put down his pen gratefully. Freelance writing was a terrible fake career choice. His advice column wore him down to his last nerve sometimes. 

“Where’s my mother?” Fox sat down across from him, hands folded together. 

“Oh, damn,” Gabriel groaned. “C’mon, kiddo. You know this.” 

“Tell me again.” 

“Do I have to?” Gabriel whined. 

“Dad. Seriously. Just tell me. For real this time.” 

“Every time I’ve told you is for real.” 

“You told me Loki stole me. That’s a little kid’s story.” 

“Fox, sometimes a kid’s story is the truth.” 

“Dad.” 

“Fine,” Gabriel raked a hand through his hair. A few seconds later, Sam mirrored the movement exactly. An unconscious reflex and Gabriel couldn’t say who had picked it up from whom anymore. “I was doing a job.” 

“Not a writing job.” 

“No.” 

“A job that had a gun,” Fox frowned. “I remember you had a gun.” 

“I did. I do. That part...well. Let me keep my secrets a little longer, okay? Anyway, you were there. In the house. Someone had been hurting you.” 

“Yeah?” Small fingers brushed under one eye, a memory of a bruise. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“So I took you. Which was wrong, probably. But kiddo, you have to believe that that was my only option, okay? I wasn’t going to leave you behind. Not then. Not ever.” 

“I know, but...” Fox blinked rapidly. “Why didn’t anyone ever come looking for me?” 

“I don’t know,” Gabriel put a hand on his son’s head. “I ask myself that every day. And every day, I’m grateful that they didn’t. Which makes me a bad, selfish person.”

“You’re not bad,” Fox said with all the sure loyalty of a fifth grader. “You’re the best dad ever.” 

“Thanks,” Gabriel laughed roughly, pulling Fox into a hard hug. “I’ll remind you of that next time I ask you to clean up your room.” 

“It’s not even that messy,” Fox protested, but he hugged back a shade too hard. 

Gabriel never had to warn Fox not to tell people about where he’d come from. Some part of him had a deep survival instinct, better and sharper even than Gabriel’s. Maybe that’s why Becky and Garth stood beside him, even though Fox was about as friendly as the animal he was named for most of the time. 

“Can Fox come over?” Becky called every Saturday morning. 

“Hold on, Becks,” Gabriel would put the phone to his chest and wait for Fox’s decree. Often, it would be the dooming shake of the head and their day would play out just the two of them, but occasionally there was a forgiving nod that came with a note of hopefulness. As if Fox was unsure the promise of friendship was a stable one. Like it might give out at any second.

Most of the time, Mrs. Rosen would pick up Fox and whisk him away in her practical minivan. Those days, Gabriel did the kind of work he’d prefer Fox didn’t see. Not wetworks, not anymore, but there was still research on targets to send to others, weapon maintenance and checking to make sure all his aliases and anonymity was holding. Despite these bursts of productivity, Gabriel still liked it best when Garth and Becky came to the cabin and filled the empty spaces with chatter and running feet. 

“We’re playing Zombie tag!” Garth would call out as they staggered around the front yard.

“I’m it!” Becky would mime a shotgun. 

“No more R rated movies for any of you!” Gabriel laughed. 

They would gather in a tight knot at the kitchen table, books open when projects were due. Despite Becky’s perfectionism and Garth’s careful handwriting, it was Fox who hacked and slashed the way through the hardest work. The school has asked Gabriel about skipping Fox ahead a grade, but Gabriel had already noticed how much smaller Fox was then his peers. Instead, Gabriel fed Fox’s voracious mind with a library card and trips out into the world. 

“I like these best,” Fox lingered in front of dark paintings that lit up from the inside. They were in a museum that smelled just as a museum should. 

“That’s Rembrandt,” Gabriel put his hand on Fox’s shoulder. “What do you like about them?” 

“I like that they glow,” Fox shrugged, leaning against Gabriel’s legs. “They look like how things are.” 

“Realist,” Gabriel despaired. “Not a romantic bone in your body.” 

“Nope,” Fox grinned up at him and Gabriel wanted to freeze him just then, weirdly innocent and happy. 

Gabriel sucked at following the parenting books, but he didn’t think he was fucking it up too badly. Mostly because Fox was impervious to his swearing, his guns and his inability to organize. Fox organized them instead, taking bizarre delight in file folders and over labeled calendars. 

“Our concert is tomorrow,” Fox reminded him solemnly as if he hadn’t starred and underlined it on the calendar two months ago. 

“Is it?” Gabriel lifted an eyebrow. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to reschedule that massage I was planning.” 

“Dad!” Fox looked scandalized. “You have to come.” 

“Hmmm. Well, if you insist.” 

Fox wasn’t much of a singer and he clung to the back row as they did their routine carols, but he shocked Gabriel by taking a seat behind a set of drums and playing with the tiny terrible band. His rhythm was decent, but more than that, Fox looked blissed out. 

Gabriel bought a drum set and earplugs for Christmas. Garth produced a battered guitar and the two boys often locked themselves away in Fox’s bedroom while Becky rolled her eyes and watched daytime talk shows with Gabriel. 

“Boys are stupid,” she declared as a man did a victory dance over his lack of paternity. 

“Yeah, mostly,” Gabriel handed her another glass of orange juice. “Probably best to avoid them altogether.” 

“That’s what my dad says too.” 

Late in the winter, Kali came to visit. She didn’t announce herself, just appeared on the porch as if it hadn’t been nine years since they last spoke. There was a profound limp in her step, but she would never admit that she’d come to him to lick her wounds. 

“Where have you been?” She demanded in lieu of hello. 

“Here.” He sat down on the couch so she would too. Her face was blank with pain. “Just laying low.” 

“You haven’t pulled a job in too long. You’ll be rusty.” 

“I’m not doing that anymore.” 

The admittance was as much to her as to himself. There hadn’t been a way to pull a job with Fox around. He wasn’t going to abandon his son for a weeks on end to bloody his hands, even if it would scratch an unrelenting itch. 

“How are you living?” 

“I have money saved up. And a side job.” The writing did pay a little after all. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Gabriel’s fingers twitched. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Dad?” Fox popped his head around the door, sleep mussed. “Is there someone here?” 

“My friend,” Gabriel gave into the inevitable. “Kali, this is Fox. Fox, Kali.” 

“Hello.” Kali eyed Fox as if he were an explosive waiting to go off. 

“Hi,” Fox froze in the doorway. 

“You look much like your father,” Kali sank off the coach to her knees, a move that must’ve aggravated whatever wound she was hiding. The whole thing would have been condescending, but she kept her hard predator angles and instead, it put Gabriel’s heart in his throat. 

“People say that,” Fox took a step toward her, one hand rolled into a fist. 

“Not many people knew your father when he was young though. I did. He was different from you. Full of anger.” 

“How do you know I’m not?” 

“Because Gabriel couldn’t raise an angry child. Fierce, perhaps. Deadly, certainly. But never angry.” She held out her hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fox.” 

“Nice to meet you too,” he said with a flickering glance up at Gabriel, before he shook. 

“Kali is going to stay on our couch a few days, okay kiddo?” 

“Yeah,” Fox stared at her for a long minute. “I like to play the drums a lot.” 

“I find a good rhythm very soothing.” 

She stayed with them for a week and to Gabriel’s surprise, neither of them made a move to get her from the couch to his bed. The passion they’d had for each other seemed like a dim memory now, something that had happened to someone else. 

“He’s changed you,” she said on the last day as they shared a bottle of wine on the porch steps. 

“They say that kids will do that to you.” 

“Not to people like us. We’re meant to be immutable. Do you know what they’d do if they actually found any of us?” 

“Death row.” He looked out over the pines, stretching protectively in every direction. 

“Because we cannot be reformed. We’re killers, Gabriel. We cannot change,” she put her hand over his, their fingers briefly interlaced. “I’m not sure what that means for you.” 

“That none of us are all one thing.” 

“I don’t know if I believe that.” 

“Maybe you should give it a try.” 

She left while he slept, leaving behind a neatly folded blanket, a handful of Jolly Ranchers and new pair of drumsticks in rich rosewood. They looked like they’d been soaked in blood and Fox latched onto them with rabid possessiveness. 

“Will she visit again?” He asked.

“I don’t think so. Not soon, anyway,” Gabriel grinned. “Then again, who knows? She’s an unpredictable sort of girl.” 

~*~ 

“Hey, Dad! Check it out!” Fox leaned in too close, practically toe to toe. 

“Check what out?” Gabriel grumbled. 

“I’m taller than you!” 

“Like hell you are!” Gabriel’s eyes focused and he realized that he was looking Fox straight in the eye. Not even straight. Slightly upward. “Well. Shit.” 

“Maybe I can actually make the basketball team this year.” 

“I thought you were trying out for soccer.” 

“They happen in different seasons,” Fox sighed in exasperation. It was a tone of voice that suggested Gabriel was being slightly slow. It had gotten used a lot these last few months as if a fifteenth birthday came with a present of snark. 

“You gonna leave any time for schoolwork?” 

“I can do both,” Sam swiped another apple out of the bowl in the middle of the table and devoured it in two bites. 

“If you say so.” 

“I do,” Fox hugged him fast enough that it barely counted. “I’m staying after school for band practice today. I’ll be home for dinner.” 

“You need me to pick you up?” 

“I can take the late bus.” A heavy backpack was slung over one shoulder. “Bye, Dad!” 

“Bye, kiddo,” Gabriel said to the closing door. 

Since high school had started, Gabriel found himself at odds and ends more and more often. Fox didn’t need him nearly as much and Gabriel had never been good at staving off boredom. He’d turned the idea of going back to wetworks over and over, but he was rusty now. Ten years out of the game and ten years out of shape. 

“I know how it is,” Jane (long ago leaving behind ‘Mrs. Rosen’. Gabriel couldn’t be that formal with someone who’d been in the trenches of lice cleaning with him) commiserated over coffee and scones. “Sometimes I feel obsolete. The Fitzgeralds always kept up their practice so they don’t really get it.” 

“What did you do before Becky?” 

“Oh, this and that,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Editing mostly. My degree was in journalism.” 

He chewed that over for a few days, then called her on another too long afternoon. 

“I’ve got an idea.” 

“Please say it’s better than another goddamn bake sale.” 

“Sister, this is your lucky day.” 

The Gazette was a small paper, a weekly four pager that mostly outlined community events and a few bits of borderline gossip. They never made much money, but Gabriel was pleased with the little effort. It even provided the Terrible Three with summer work. Fox wrote a few pieces to add to his growing college application folder while Garth proved half-decent with a camera, getting a small pile of black and whites. Together they could fill half the paper by the end of the summer.

“You should have a website,” Becky determined. 

“Don’t tell him that,” Fox laughed. “Dad is afraid of the computer.” 

“Lies and slander,” Gabriel growled. “Go cover the Little League game.” 

“Dad!” 

“If you’re gonna be lippy, you’re gonna get the boring assignments. Off you go,” Gabriel banished him, but not before tucking a ten dollar bill into his shirt pocket for lunch. 

The growth that had carried Fox above Gabriel’s height, admittedly not very intimidating, had shown no signs of stopping. The formerly picky kid had become a vortex for calories in all forms without a single ounce of fat gathering on his stringy frame. 

“He’s going to be a giant,” Gabriel mourned. 

“The website, Mr. Horn,” Becky’s eyes widened impossibly larger. 

“You have a hundred dollar budget.” 

She produced a near professional looking site by the end of the month then spent another series of days teaching Jane and Gabriel how to use it. Jane stayed thin lipped through her daughter’s rambling explanations until Gabriel said casually, 

“I think we only really need one webmaster, right?” 

At Becky’s reluctant nod, Jane escaped like her chair was on fire. Gabriel learned the ins and outs of Becky’s site and by default, how to operate their cranky desktop. Eventually he caved and let Fox pick out one for the house with a dedicated phone line for the internet. 

“I think maybe you should get your porn like a normal kid instead. Steal some dirty magazines. It builds character,” Gabriel teased. 

“I’m going to use it for school! Ew, Dad, don’t talk to me about that stuff,” Fox buried his face in his hands. “I’m scarred forever.”

“Your life is a tragedy,” Gabriel agreed. 

The last thing Gabriel expected from this new investment was for Fox to bring him a blotchy printout. It was an old, old article about the murder that had brought Fox into his life. The picture was grainy, but Gabriel had never had success in erasing the faces of the dead. 

“This was it, right?” Fox demanded. “This...guy...you killed him.” 

“Yeah, I did,” Gabriel watched Fox warily from the couch. He waited for the rage he’d been expecting or something other than Fox’s resigned face. 

“But he wasn’t my father,” Fox sounded sure. 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“I wish I could remember,” he said miserably. 

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I’m sorry it happened to you like that anyway, but I’m still not sorry that I took you home.” 

Fox stalked out of the room and Gabriel let out a shaky breath. To his surprise, Fox returned not long after. The print out was gone and his eyes were red. He sat down next to Gabriel on the couch and put his head on Gabriel’s shoulder. Gabriel gave him a one-armed hug and kissed the top of his head. 

“I remember small things,” Fox admitted. “But they don’t make any sense. Hotel rooms and this blur of green outside a car window.” 

“When I was three, we moved,” Gabriel closed his eyes. “I remember the old house, but just in snatches. The wood floors. One of my brothers pushing me down a flight of stairs. It’s too young for the big things.” 

“I wish I knew,” Fox said softly. “Just...where I came from. It doesn’t really matter though.” 

“It matters. That’s why I’ve looked. Your whole life I looked, kiddo and I promise, I won’t stop.” 

“I know.” 

The snow came early that year. Gabriel taught Fox how to drive on the same treacherous roads that had carried them there in the first place. It was murder on the ancient pickup’s clutch, but worth it for Fox’s greedy joy when they picked out a used Camry for him. 

“You’re paying for all the gas,” Gabriel said sternly, but he couldn’t stop smiling as Sam pet the steering wheel. 

The very first week Fox had the car, he came back with a mangy wreck of a dog that couldn’t be anything, but a mongrel. It had blood matted into its fur and a mournful little whine that it released the second Gabriel opened his mouth to chastise his son. 

“He was alone on the side of the road,” Fox kneeled on the floor, arms around the filthy neck. “I couldn’t just leave him there. Someone’s been hurting him.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Gabriel threw up his hands. “Fine. He’s your responsibility. And we have to have the vet check him out first.” 

The irony didn’t exactly escape Gabriel, especially as he helped Fox get the protesting animal into a warm bath. He almost suggested bubble bath. Underneath the filth, the dog had a gold coat, pleading brown eyes and female genitals. 

“Her name is Sif,” Fox declared after they’d blow dried her and fed her two hamburgers. 

“Not much of a warrior,” Gabriel said wryly as she tried to lick Fox’s nose straight off his face. 

“She’s fierce,” Fox insisted. 

The trouble was that Fox went to school, played in band and played soccer. Sif quickly became Gabriel’s companion, going with him to work and sleeping on his feet or trailing him as he did his routine circuit through the grounds. At night, she returned loyally to Fox’s side and slept at the foot of his bed, but the rest of the time she was indisputably Gabriel’s dog. 

“I didn’t hire you,” he would inform her tartly as she took her station under his desk. “But I can fire you.” 

To Fox he pretended apathy towards her, but it was an open secret that he adored the golden heap of fur. Between her and the newspaper, Gabriel was actually able to sit down with Fox the next fall and help him apply for college without having a coronary. 

“Where do you want to go?” Gabriel asked, heart only skittering a little. 

“I don’t know. I think I want to stay on the east coast though.” 

“You don’t have to.” It hurt to say, but he meant it. “The world is yours, kiddo. We’ll swing it, no matter what.” 

“I know. I think I want to do something...I don’t know. Medical maybe. Or social work. Or be a lawyer.” 

“College is for figuring all that out. Or so I’ve been told,” Gabriel shrugged. “You’ve got time to piece it together.” 

“You didn’t go to college?” The idea seemed to stun him. 

“What about me suggests I had any kind of formal education?” 

“You’re a good writer.” 

“Became one. It didn’t come naturally.” 

Fox went quiet and Gabriel waited it out. 

“You don’t talk about it. How you got into the whole...assassin thing.” 

“You remember what I told you about my family?” 

“Yeah, soldiers or sociopaths. Sometimes both. Hard to forget. I had to write Scotch-Irish-Polish down instead on that report.”

“Probably close enough. We’re from all over. But look, my father was into some heavy bad shit and so were my brothers. That’s what I was trained in, but I took a different path. Decided to rent my services to people that needed it instead of marching to my Dad’s orders. Not a favorite choice. I had to burn a lot of bridges.” 

“How old were you when you left?” 

“Younger than you and not half as smart,” he shook his head. “I was more balls than good sense. Kali found me covered in blood and taught me how to act like a person. Her and a few others, actually. But they were pretty young themselves. We all just grew up sort of feral.” 

“Wow,” Fox blinked. “That’s...wow.” 

“Fucked up, I know. But that’s not your life, okay? You’re gonna go to college and find something you like to do and do it well. Okay?” 

“Yeah,” Fox bit his lip and put the tip of his pen to a form. “I hear you.” 

The acceptance letters poured in. Fox opened each one with a shout of excitement as if it were all a surprise to him. One afternoon, Becky and Garth sat with him over a table full of letters and triangulated. 

“I’m going to Sarah Lawrence,” Becky swept her hair back, eying Sam speculatively. “If you go somewhere in the city we’ll be close enough to carpool home.” 

“I’m probably just going to do Rutgers,” Garth spun his sparse stack under one finger. “They’ve got a good pre-med program and it won’t bankrupt my parents.” 

“You got a scholarship to Columbia,” Becky flicked Garth’s arm. “You can totally afford to go.” 

“No abuse at the table,” Gabriel called out for the living room. 

“Sorry, Mr. Horn!” Becky chirped. 

“You’re not sorry,” Garth grumbled. 

“I liked NYU when we went to check it out,” Fox frowned. “But I don’t like the idea of living in the city.” 

Garth went to Columbia, Becky went to Sarah Lawrence and Fox wound up at Princeton, only a two hour drive away from home. Not that he came home much after that first long semester, but it did allow Gabriel to take self-indulgent day trips to make sure that his kid wasn’t subsisting on alcohol, Pepsi and Ramen as Gabriel had at that age. 

“They have a great salad bar here!” Fox enthused and stuffed himself with olive and blue cheese drenched leaves when Gabriel showed up with wallet in hand. That soothed his concerns, even if it did bring up another round of questions about who the hell had birthed his freaky kid. 

Fox took all kinds of crazy classes and sometimes called Gabriel up just to bitch about the lack of accuracy in his Norse mythology class. 

“I’m pretty sure your professors know more about it then I do.” 

“I doubt it,” Fox grumped. “You told the stories better anyway.” 

“Thanks, kiddo.” Gabriel grinned stupidly down at Sif. 

Maybe he’d actually done okay with this whole single father thing. 

~*~ 

The car had been following Gabriel for two days before he decided to do something about it. It was an obvious sort of car, classic and oversized. The sheen of black paint spoke of someone with obsessive care. Gabriel had caught it doing a careful tail as he headed into town to the Gazette’s office and kept half an eye on it. The driver didn’t seem inclined to offer violence nor had Gabriel caught him checking in with anyone. 

So Gabriel bought an extra cup of coffee with his lunch and brought it straight to where the car was parked, tapping politely on the window. The driver started. Gabriel waited for him to roll down the window. 

“Figured you must need some caffeine. That was a late night you pulled.” 

“Thanks,” the driver took it casually, but didn’t drink from it. 

He was a handsome kid, probably only a few years older than Fox though he sported far more stubble. Strong jaw, green eyes and over styled hair that matched with the beat up leather jacket. All of it sat a little off though and Gabriel wasn’t surprised when the driver fished a badge out of his pocket and flashed it. 

“Agent Winchester, F.B.I.” 

“Yeah?” Gabriel snatched up the badge to inspect it. Not the shield which was easy enough to fake, but the actual identification. It looked real enough, none of the tells of forgery present. “You old enough to be out in the field by yourself...Dean?” 

“Agent Winchester,” Dean took the id back with what was very nearly a pout. 

“Look, agent, I was about to have lunch. Why don’t you sit down with me and tell me why you’re bothering following around little old me? Maybe I can answer some questions for you and get you on your way.” 

“You’ll just spill your guts?” Dean snorted. “Forget it.” 

“Listen, agent, you can come have a friendly lunch with me or I can call your supervisor and ask them why an agent is using his free time to stalk an innocent taxpayer.” 

“I’m on a case.” 

“Like hell you are. The Bureau doesn’t give out classic restored cars to agents lying low and they certainly equip them better for basic surveillance. Not to mention, you’re supposed to have your partner with you and not be dressing like a wannabe hoodlum.” 

“I’ve got a suit in the trunk if you’d like that better,” Dean snarled. 

“I’m guessing you’re at your best bare assed, but I don’t have that level of comfort with you yet.” 

Eventually, Dean got out of the car and followed Gabriel to the Gazette’s office. He was still carrying the extra cup of coffee with a slightly lost expression on his face. Gabriel handed him a ham sandwich. Hunger eventually won out over suspicion though Dean waited until Gabriel had taken a bite of his own turkey mess first. 

Gabriel let Dean eat in silence, observing the carefully hoarding way he ate. There’d been deprivation there. In the harsh light of the cheap fluorescents, there was a policeman’s tension at the corner of his eyes, but a looseness around his mouth suggesting it still knew how to smile. 

“Okay, pilgrim. Shoot,” Gabriel offered when the last of the food and coffee had disappeared. Gabriel wondered if Dean had even noticed sucking down the other half of Gabriel’s sandwich. 

“You’re the focal point of two investigations. The jelly center of a Venn Diagram donut.” 

“Nice metaphor.” 

“Thanks,” Dean did flash a smile then and it was a nice one. Clean white teeth, a little overlap on the bottom teeth. No orthodontist visits for him. “So where were you on the night of January 5, 1986?” 

“I’ve got no damn idea,” Gabriel lied. “That was over twenty years ago.” 

“Nineteen years, four months and three days.” 

“Precise,” Gabriel whistled. “But that doesn’t help jog my memory.” 

“You’ve got to remember,” Dean pressed. “There’s...there’s no one else, okay? So it has to be you.” 

Two investigations. Two crimes. Murder. Kidnapping. 

An off hours agent with the date stamped in Gabriel’s head with a bold underline. An agent with a chip on his shoulder and a dozen signs of impoverished childhood. The kind of childhood that he’d taken Fox away from. 

Dean. 

A flash image of Fox, delicate and half-starved, clinging to a windowsill with that helpless syllable stuck to his lips. Gabriel had always imagined that elusive character as some abandoning figure, an uncle or father. Not this. Never this. 

“What am I meant to be remembering?” 

Dean took out his wallet and with reverent fingers teased a little colorful square from a worn cardholder. He laid the picture down before Gabriel. It was blurry and old, the colors at once too bright and too faded. But that was a face that Gabriel would have recognized anywhere. Fox was younger there than Gabriel had ever seen him, barely standing on his own and clinging to another boy. Gabriel could recognize Dean’s features there in the small closely guarded face. 

“You were the last person to see this child.” 

“Why would you say that?” Gabriel studied the photo. 

“Because you killed Ben Easter, the man who was watching him at the time.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Gabriel sat back in his chair. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m hardly the stuff killers are made of. I can’t even get the printer paper down off the top shelf without a stool.” 

“You’re codename was Loki. You were an assassin for hire between the years of 1972 and 1986. Loki was responsible for nine deaths that we’re sure of and suspected of baker’s dozen of others.” 

“Codenames?” Gabriel laughed. “You should like the parody of an agent.” 

Dean stared at him, unblinking and unimpressed. Gabriel let his laughter dissipate slowly, let the tension rise, putting the pressure on Dean to justify himself. 

He didn’t. He stared right back with cool confidence. 

Finally, just to break the ridiculousness of the moment, Gabriel said, 

“You don’t have any evidence. Nothing that’ll hold up or you’d be here in a three piece suit and a SWAT team.” 

“I can prove it,” Dean growled. 

“So why are you following me around hoping for some shred of guilt to shine through while I buy groceries, instead of doing something about it?” 

“It has to be you,” there was a hard swallow. “It has to be.” 

“Why?” Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “Why me?” 

“Because if it isn’t, I’m never going to find him.” The words seemed to arrive without Dean’s consent. 

“The kid.” 

“My brother,” Dean confessed and palmed the picture with tender possessiveness. “Dad left him with a friend for a few weeks, took me with him. When we got back...” 

“That’s a sad story.” 

Dean shut down, swept the vulnerability under the veneer of professionalism. He started peppering Gabriel with questions that he carefully stonewalled. 

“I’m not leaving town. Not until I find out what I want to know,” Dean backed off when the sun started to set. “I’ve got my eye on you.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

As soon as Dean was back in his ridiculous car, Gabriel picked up the phone. He could put the conversation off indefinitely, of course. Let Dean pointlessly stalk him and eventually be recalled to his home office. It would certainly be the safer option. Safer still would be to dispose of Dean altogether. Long ago that would have been Gabriel’s choice, but he’d learned hard lessons from his years away from murder and mayhem. Most of all, he’d learned that he was no longer the sole decision maker, even in his own life. If he arranged an accident for Dean now, it would leave a question mark in Fox’s mind for the rest of this life. 

He pressed the speed dial on his cell. It rang a few times, Gabriel mentally composing the voicemail to end all voicemails, when Fox picked up, 

“What’s up, Dad?” 

“You got a few minutes?” 

“Yeah, just kicking around until my next class.” 

“Good. Look, I have something heavy to lay on you. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Fox said somberly. The same clarity and focus that had been evident even in Dean’s faded photograph.

“A FBI agent found me today. He’s working off the books on a murder and I’m his new number on suspect.” 

“Did you do it?” 

“Yeah, I did, but he doesn’t have the evidence to build a case against me. It’s sort of his pet project.” 

“Um, okay. So...what are you going to do?” 

“That’s partially up to you.” 

“Why me?” 

“Because I’m pretty sure that the agent is your brother.” 

Silence on the other end of the line. Gabriel could picture the stillness of his son’s face, how he would suck in his breath and let it out in a long slow stream with his brow furrowed. 

“How sure?” He asked at last. 

“He had a picture of you and him when you were kids. It was compelling.” 

“He’s investigating the murder of the guy you took me from.” 

“Yes.” 

“Shit, Dad.” 

“I know.” Gabriel closed his eyes. “But like I said, he’s working rogue. I don’t think he really gives a fuck about the murder. Murders. Or maybe he does. I don’t know. The important thing is that no one ever declared you missing and I’ve got a metric ton of legal documents that call you my son. Short of DNA, which he can’t compel without better evidence, he can’t prove anything.” 

“So you’re not in any trouble.” 

“Probably not. So. If you wanted to do something about it, you could.”

“You mean, I can meet him.” 

“If that’s what you want,” Gabriel said gently. It meant none of that. Dean had the weight of the U.S. government on his side. Either he or someone else had already made the connection between Gabriel and Loki. With Sam’s questionable paternity thrown in the mix, it spelled a investigation at the very least. 

The life Gabriel had spent twenty years carefully building would be gone. He could start over elsewhere, of course. He was good at not being found, but that would mean leaving Fox behind and he wasn’t sure that he could bear that. So he lied and said it’d be fine. He had heard a rumor somewhere that that was what parents did. 

“Yeah,” Fox choked. “I want to.” 

They made plans for the end of Gabriel’s life, his son tentatively excited. 

It wasn’t hard to get Dean where he needed to be. He spent the next forty-eight hours stuck to Gabriel like glue. Now that he didn’t have to hide his stalking, he just parked ominously close. Gabriel took to waving cheerfully every time he saw him and leaving him warm meals on the hood of the car like small offerings to an angry god. 

Fox made it home late on the end of the second day, a jangle of nerves. Gabriel considered telling him to put off the whole thing until he could get some sleep, but doubted either of them would manage a wink. 

“Just...stay here,” Gabriel hugged him one last time. By now Fox towered over him, but he leaned down and buried his face in Gabriel’s neck like he was a child all over again. 

“You’re still my family,” Fox mumbled. 

“Don’t be a sap,” Gabriel said around the lump in his throat. “I raised you better than that.” 

“Shut up,” Fox laughed and pulled away, sweeping a hand through his hair. 

“Don’t tell people to shut up,” Gabriel said automatically. 

“Yes, Dad, ” Fox grinned at him. 

“Shut up.” 

“Don’t tell people to shut up.” 

They probably could’ve gone on like that forever, but there was no use delaying the inevitable now. Gabriel shook himself and went outside. Dean was parked at the end of their long driveway, arms folded over his chest to keep out the growing autumn chill and dark circles thick under his eyes. He must’ve been sleeping in the damn car. 

“Hey, agent,” Gabriel knocked on the window. 

“Why can’t you act like a normal suspect?” Dean grumbled as he rolled it down. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“This isn’t supposed to be fun.” 

“No kidding,” Gabriel said dryly. “Look, you saw the other car drive up, I’m guessing.” 

“Yeah, ran the plates too. Registered to you.” 

“It’s my son’s car technically, but I’m still paying the bills.” 

“Your son?” There was evident surprise there and Gabriel winced on Dean’s behalf. 

“What kind of research did you actually do on me?” 

“It might’ve been a little dated.” 

“You think?” Gabriel shook his head. “You’re too dumb to live.” 

“That a threat?” 

“Just a general statement of fact. Look, it’s going to get colder. You should probably come inside. Meet my son.” 

“Why? Is he going to hide me under the floorboards?” 

Even as his stomach twisted in acid knots, Gabriel found the wherewithal to roll his eyes. 

“Yes. I’m going to let my son assassinate a federal agent. Flawless plan.” He took the frame he’d tucked under this jacket out and handed it through the open window. “Look at this picture of him and you’ll want to meet him.” 

“I don’t swing that way.” Dean’s smirk fell away the second he really looked at the photo. 

It was a nice picture, a class photo from first grade. Fox was smiling his private sly smile and his hair fell shaggy over his eyes. The background was a pale blue with white lasers shot through it for some godforsaken reason. There were dozens of photos like that, charting Fox’s years of fierce smallness to awkward lankiness and his eventual easy coed lankiness swamped in a Princeton sweatshirt. The photos were evidence of care, someone watching over a child as he grew. Gabriel had plucked this one in particular though he couldn’t have said why in the moment. Maybe it was the way Fox still looked a little like the toddler in Dean’s photo, but also a little like Gabriel himself. 

“He wants to meet you,” Gabriel told Dean carefully. “But don’t bother if you’re only going to make him miserable.” 

The car door opened, startling Gabriel and he barely caught himself from falling on his ass. The muzzle of Dean’s gun was trained square on Gabriel’s forehead. 

“You took him. You just...you stole my little brother.” 

“I adopted a boy who had a black eye and no idea where his parents were. I waited for someone to report him missing, I looked every goddamn day. Not one milk carton had his face on it,” Gabriel starred Dean down, years of repressed rage seething through him. “He was left there, alone and miserable.” 

“We were coming back!” Dean took a step forward, but Gabriel stood his ground. “Dad had to leave him behind for a few days. It was too dangerous, but Ben wouldn’t take both of us. So we left Sammy with him. It was just a few days.” 

“It was two weeks easy,” Gabriel spat. “And even if it was ten minutes, the guy was beating on him.” 

“Dad didn’t know that! He wouldn’t have left Sammy with anyone that would hurt him.” 

“If your father cared then why didn’t he ever going looking for him?” 

“He looked! Everywhere.” 

It was almost impressive how Dean raged, but kept his gun perfectly still. Apparently Quantico training was good for something. 

“No official records of that search.” 

“He couldn’t...there were..it’s fucking complicated, okay?” 

“Well how about you don’t make it complicated by shooting your brother’s adopted father before you get to meet him? I can guarantee that’ll be a bad way to start things off.” 

Reluctantly, Dean lowered the gun, but didn’t even make a pretense of putting it away. He waited for Gabriel to start walking and stayed pointedly behind him. It wasn’t until they reached the porch steps that Gabriel heard Dean’s steady stride falter. 

“Is he...is he happy?” Dean asked. 

Gabriel turned to face him. Gone was the confident FBI agent, in his place a nervous boy with bitten lips and a bottomless hunger. 

“Most of the time. He’s smart. Senior at Princeton, majoring in anthropology. Got a girlfriend named Sarah though I don’t know how serious it is. He’s a good marksman, but he won’t carry a gun. He’s got a good sense of humor, but he doesn’t laugh much.” 

“Maybe it would be better if I just don’t,” Dean licked his lips. “Maybe he’s better off.” 

“Dad?” Fox pushed the door open. 

“Too late to back off now,” Gabriel said grimly, then turned to Fox. “Right here, kiddo. But let’s do this inside, okay?” 

It was too late. They’d locked eyes and the world had clearly fallen away while they evaluated each other. Even with the porch light streaming over them both, Gabriel was hard pressed to find the similarities in their faces. Yet there was a clear likeness anyway. Something in the way they held themselves like men who hadn’t yet learned how they fit into the world or the careful way they looked over each other, flinty and warm all that the same time. 

“Dean,” Fox said at last with all the surety in the world. “I kept waiting for you.” 

“Sammy,” Dean choked. “Oh, God...” 

“It’s Fox,” came the gentle correction. “Jesus...Dean.” 

Fox jumped off the porch, ignoring the steps in a way that used to have Gabriel hollering after him about breaking his neck. He didn’t wait for Dean to relax or accept him, just flung his monkey arms around him. Dean wasn’t a small man, but Fox refused to stop growing and he practically drowned Dean in the hug. Whatever reluctance Dean had experienced must’ve died on the spot because he embraced Fox like he might disappear if he let go. They made a matching, wrenching sound of manly men trying not cry. 

Gabriel slipped away. Whatever remained of this strange reunion was not for him to see. He didn’t go far though because he wasn’t a goddamn saint. Instead, he went to the kitchen and made hot cocoa and pizza bagels like he would’ve if it were Becky or Garth come around for a visit. 

The boys came inside eventually, their conversation a rapid breathless fire of questions that barely left room for answers. Eventually Fox did poke his pointed nose into the kitchen with a hopeful expression and red-rimmed eyes. 

“You okay, kiddo?” 

“Yeah,” Fox picked up the mug Gabriel had left out from him, curling his hands around it. “My bio father was an illegally operating bounty hunter.” 

“That’s...not what I was expecting.” 

“Me either,” Fox shrugged. “Can Dean stay here tonight?” 

“Long as he promises not to kill me in my sleep.” 

The promise of food must’ve lured Dean in, but then he stood hesitantly at the threshold. Gabriel put the pizza bagels on the kitchen table and backed away like he might with a stray cat. Sif finally decided to greet their guest, padding over to him and sticking her nose right into his crotch. 

“Hey there,” Dean jumped. 

“Sif, leave him alone,” Fox laughed and tugged gently at her collar. “Sorry. She likes to get personal.” 

“S’okay. Just not a real dog fan.” 

“Wrong answer,” Gabriel hid a grin as Fox’s face sank in disappointment. 

“I got bit by a rottweiler when I was nine,” Dean tugged up his shirt sleeve, showing off three faint white dots. Or at least that was what he’d probably intended to show. What Gabriel saw was the evidence of too many other fights and scrapes. 

“Sif is a marshmallow,” Gabriel kicked out a chair. “Sit, eat. There’s more in the fridge, Fox. Heat it up if you want it. I’m headed to bed. Get the extra blankets out of the hall closet if he decides to stay.” 

Sleep wasn’t actually going to happen. Gabriel sat up in bed until even their quiet whispers faded into silence. He kept a book open on his lap for distraction and his own gun in easy reach in case Dean got any ideas. When the sun rose over his sleepless bed, Gabriel padded back out into the living room. To his surprise, it was Fox jammed on the couch with a pile of blankets spread over him. 

In front of the fireplace, Dean had his hands clasped loosely behind his back in some faded military posture while he looked over the plethora of photos. He had taken off his jacket and shoes at some point, but his loose long flannel shirt had stayed on. Making enough noise to alert Dean of his presence, Gabriel came to stand next to him. 

“We never stayed in one place long enough to get school photos,” the admittance came out in a hoarse whisper. “Too many places to go, too many people looking for us. There’s some polaroids stashed here and there, but nothing like this.” 

“I didn’t have it either. My family was too busy ripping itself apart to document the good days. That’s probably why I have so many now,” Gabriel reached out and minutely adjusted one of Fox with his arms around a Becky smiling to show off her missing front tooth. “

“Sammy...Fox. He said you said I could stay a few days?” 

“As long as we’re calling a truce.” 

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” Dean frowned. “I just...I’ve spent my whole life imagining what I would do to the person that took him. But you did right by him. Sending him to good schools, keeping him fed and everything. That’s...I don’t know that Dad could’ve done that.” 

“I was wrong to take him, but I refuse to be sorry for it.” 

“You’re a murderer.” 

“I admit to nothing,” Gabriel said mildly. “You want eggs for breakfast or chocolate chip pancakes?” 

“Pancakes are good.” 

Gabriel made eggs alongside them anyway. When Fox woke up from his dead sleep, he’d want to swallow down protein, but at least his health lecture would have to be spread over two people this time instead of landing solely on Gabriel’s deaf ears. 

~*~

Despite himself, Gabriel fell into a pattern with Dean. He just couldn’t treat him as the potentially dangerous guest he really was. Instead, he treated him like one of Fox’s friends: feeding him up, listening when he needed to talk and Fox had given into one of his many distant obligations and forcing him to lie down for naps when it was clear he wasn’t sleeping at night. 

“You’re not my Dad!” Dean protested as Gabriel threw a pillow at his head. 

“You’re under my roof, sonny boy,” Gabriel rejoined. 

“He’s really not yours though, “ Fox said quietly, a week into Dean’s arrival. 

“I’m aware,” Gabriel sighed. “He just keeps on reminding me of you.” 

“We’re not that much alike.” The dearth of common interests had been plaguing Fox since the beginning. 

“That’s all surface bullshit, kiddo,” Gabriel said. “Where it matters, you’re exactly the same.” 

“Like we both have good hearts or something?” 

“Ease off the sarcasm, kiddo. No, it’s more...a stubbornness. A stillness too, under the bullshit. Just trust me, it’s there.” 

Friday showed up, an unwelcome reminder that Fox would return to college on Monday. Gabriel still wasn’t entirely sure that the moment Fox’s car was out of sight, Dean wouldn’t be bringing out the handcuffs. He decided not to worry about it. Instead, he built up a fire in the pit he’d dug with Fox summers ago. Dean and Fox hovered around the flames like oversized moths. Gabriel tossed a bag full of marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate at them. 

“Awesome!” Fox cheered and started scrounging around for sticks. 

“What’s it for?” Dean studied the bags contents. 

“You’ve never had a s’more?” Fox looked dumbfounded. “Didn’t you ever go camping?” 

“Went camping a lot. We ate a lot of beans,” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. 

“You’re going to love this.” Eagerly, Fox put a stick in Dean’s hands and started explaining the mechanics of it. 

It was a chilly night, but the fire was high. Gabriel watched the boys negotiate acceptable levels of relatedness, Dean’s cheeks stuffed with sweets and Fox watching him with tolerant good humor mixed with something fresh. Affection maybe or the beginnings of the kind of long ground in fondness that they’d been robbed of. 

Despite what might await, Gabriel found himself content in the moment. 

So of course that was when the man with the gun showed up. 

“Step away, Dean!” 

The man had a long tan coat over rumpled suit and looked every inch the FBI agent that Dean had claimed to be. It was hard to make out his features in the dark, but all Gabriel needed to see was the glint of his gun. Fox had already hit the ground, years of emergency training taking hold. Gabriel only had a knife tucked into his boot, but it was a decent throwing knife. He might make his target if he had too. 

“Put it down!” Dean shouted. 

“Dean, you don’t know how dangerous this man is. If I’d known that you’d run off to find him on your own, I would never have let you seen the case file.” 

“He’s not a danger right now. I promise.” Stepping towards the gunman, Dean held his hands open. It wasn’t the posture of surrender, but friendly beseeching. “Come on, it’s cool, okay? I’ve been here for a couple of days. If he was gonna kill me, he had plenty of opportunity.” 

“He’s sly, he’s careful. He would wait,” the gun didn’t waver, trained at Gabriel’s forehead. 

“He’s my brother’s father,” Dean reached the last bit of distance, clasping the gunman’s shoulder. “It’s Sammy. You were right about that. He raised my little brother.” 

“I’m glad you found your brother,” the gunman said gravely, “but that doesn’t negate Gabriel’s crimes.” 

“Crimes you can’t prove,” Gabriel spoke at last. 

“I will eventually.” 

One step forward and the firelight could catch on the gunman’s face. It had been decades, but Gabriel wasn’t the type to forget. He knew those eyes and brows, once turned trustingly upwards with the air of one who could listen and remember. The boy who couldn’t be bothered with his body, treating it more like a hollow vessel that bore his ever open mind. They had talked much, once upon a time. When they were both still too young to fully realize what their family did. Gabriel, older cousin, had fed on the adulation of younger ones, but this boy...this man now, he had never been one to venerate. Instead he asked questions, finding the limits of Gabriel’s knowledge and thirsting for more. 

“Castiel,” he looked him over carefully. “You grew up well.” 

“You’ve grown old and sloppy,” Castiel didn’t drop the gun an inch. “I picked up your trail in the Loki files a year ago. That pattern, that style, I hoped it was one of the others, but you were the only one operating independently.” 

“Except you apparently. Working for the other side? Father must be devastated.” 

“He’s gone,” Castiel said steadily. “Disappeared. Lucifer believes him dead, but Michael and Raphael hold on to hope. They lead the family in his place.” 

“And I’ll just bet that they’ve been looking for me too. How is that you found me and they didn’t?” 

“I told you, I saw the pattern in the files for the Loki cases. They don’t have access to those records.” 

“You really think Raphael doesn’t have FBI moles? Still innocent, little cousin.” 

“I rooted them out,” Castiel didn’t smile. Gabriel wasn’t sure he knew how. Certainly he hadn’t done it much even when they were children. “It took some time, but I know the bureau is clean.” 

“Cas is thorough,” Dean cut in. “But not so thorough that you can cover up a gunshot on an unarmed man having s’mores with his fucking kid. Put the gun down, man.” 

“He’s brainwashed you. They were always good at that.” 

“I left them behind for a reason,” Gabriel ground out. 

“Please stop pointing a gun at my dad,” Fox had gotten up while none of them were paying attention and now casually stepped in front of Gabriel. 

“Get out of the way,” Cas demanded. 

“Enough,” Dean put a hand over Cas’ muzzle. “Enough, okay? Thank you for riding to my rescue, but I’m fine. I would really like an explanation about how the killer you were so obsessed with turned out to actually be your cousin. That’s some heavy shit to cover up, man.” 

“I wasn’t covering it up. It just wasn’t relevant.” Reluctantly, Cas finally dropped into a less threatening stance. “I wasn’t even certain of it until this moment. But it only confirms the blood on his hands, Dean. My family, you know what they’re capable of.” 

“Dad is different,” Fox folded his arms across his chest, forehead in full furrow as Gabriel stepped back around him. 

“Stand down, kiddo. Cas is right. We’re capable of a lot of things. But some of us managed to walk away from them.” 

“You still killed many people.” 

“Was anyone in your case files worth saving, Castiel?” Gabriel sighed. “Tell me how many of them you wish had been allowed to walk the streets these past twenty years.” 

“Everyone deserves a fair trial.” 

“Including Samandriel?” Gabriel asked archly, taking a mean spirited pleasure at Cas’ flinch. “What about Rachel? What about all those cousins who trusted you and believed in you and you led right into a firefight?” 

“Samandriel...I was forced, you know that.” 

“But the others?” Gabriel pressed. “Your hands are no cleaner than mine. Maybe you’ve joined up with a new team, but that doesn’t erase your past. I can guarantee that for every tiny sliver of evidence you have on me, I have a log that I can throw at you.” 

“Mutually assured destruction,” Castiel tilted his head, a movement so familiar that Gabriel found himself mimicking it before he quite knew what he was doing. That genetic quirk that was engrained hard in their DNA, an almost birdlike gesture that descended through the generations without fail. 

“Think of it as a treaty if you’d like that better.” 

Dean looked grim, but not surprised. Had Castiel told Dean all his sticky little secrets? Gabriel had a hard time imagining his cousin in a confessional mood and an even tougher time imagining Dean sitting through it, unjudgemental. 

“I don’t like it at all,” Castiel sighed. “Do you truly trust him, Dean?” 

“No, but I don’t distrust him either.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“I know,” Dean pat Cas stiffly on the shoulder. “Sorry.” 

“Leave the gun on the ground,” Fox demanded. “Then come and have a s’more. We’ve got two more bags of marshmallows to get through.” 

“What’s a s’more?” Castiel reluctantly kneeled to drop his weapon among the leaves. 

“Oh my god!” Fox threw his hands up in the air. “Dad, did you really grow up without s’mores?” 

“Why do you think I’ve got such a sweet tooth now?” Gabriel let a laugh come through, dry and not entirely convincing, but a relief from the high stake tensions of before. “Got to make up for my sugar deprived youth. Dad was a big fan of whole grains and brussel sprouts.” 

“You told me brussel sprouts were the devil’s vegetable.” 

“And I would know.” 

“I like brussel sprouts,” Castiel said. 

“That’s because you suck at life,” Dean grabbed a stick and shoved it in Cas’ unresisting hands. “You’d sit outside and kumbayayaya yourself to death if it wasn’t for me buying you french fries once and a while.” 

“French fries,” Fox said dreamily. 

“You are not still hungry after all this bullshit,” Gabriel accused, but knowing Fox he probably was. “I think I’ve got some hot dogs left in the back of the refrigerator.” 

Castiel followed him into the house, Fox made to go with them, but Gabriel gestured him to stay. They had a lengthy argument using only their eyebrows until Fox relented and went back to sitting next to Dean, looking worried. 

The house was mostly dark, but it was Gabriel’s home. He knew the layout, Castiel didn’t. If Castiel wanted to try something, he would be sorely sorry when it was over. Instead of violence though, Castiel just looked around the untidy living room. With ginger care, he ran a hand over the couch where Dean had been sleeping. Just like Dean, he gravitated toward the pictures over the fireplace. While Gabriel rummaged in the kitchen, he kept catching glances of Castiel touching this or that frame with just his fingertips. 

“Dean has been looking for Samuel most of his life,” Castiel said when Gabriel emerged from the kitchen. “I’m not entirely sure what he’ll do now that he’s found him. He often said was the only reason that he joined the bureau.” 

“You worried your boyfriend is going to leave you?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow. 

“Dean and I are partners. I hadn’t had one before he showed up and I wasn’t much impressed with him in the beginning. But he has proven to be an excellent agent and a good friend,” Castiel frowned. “I would hate to see him give up the work because he’s completed his goal.” 

“I don’t know about that, but Fox has to go back to college on Monday. It’s not like Dean can just spend the rest of his life waiting for Fox to have time with him.” 

“You don’t call him Samuel or Sammy.” 

“No, he’s my fox.” 

“It’s a curious nickname.” 

“It fits him.” 

“I don’t wish...I don’t want to be your enemy,” Cas licked his lips. “Of all of them, I always found you to be the most...tolerant. But I can’t overlook the things that you’ve done. The people that you’ve hurt.” 

“I’m not sorry that I did what I did, so I guess we’re at an impasse there,” Gabriel sighed. “It’s like I said though, you’ve done some rough stuff too in the name of justice. We’re men of action, you and I. Maybe we were made that way or maybe we were just born to it, but either way that’s how it is. I’ve worked hard to stay away from all that and it looks like you’ve down the same. Maybe we’ll never be on the side of the angels or the devils, but we can muck out this middle spot if we’re not at each other’s throats.” 

“I would prefer that,” Castiel allowed. “Perhaps we can forgive, even if we cannot forget.” 

“I can. It’s on you, cousin.” 

Fox gave up his bed for Castiel that night, dragging his sleeping bag into Gabriel’s room and spreading it on the floor beside the bed. He settled into it noisily, reminding Gabriel of a snuffling five year old who kicked and used his elbows in his sleep. 

“Are you going to tell me about him?” Fox asked when all the lights were out and they were alone in the dark. 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Are you actually cousins?” 

“Probably. Second or maybe fourth. Or maybe we’re brothers. Father was fairly free with his affections. Tracing it all back becomes complicated. We all just used cousin after a while if we weren’t sure.” 

“But you grew up with him?” 

“I’m a decade older, but yeah. I guess. He was as good a kid as he was allowed to be.” 

“Do you think it’s weird that they found each other? Dean and Cas, I mean. It seems sort of impossible.” 

Gabriel thought about the long tangle of events that had led them to this conversation. He’d had to turn away from his family, take up freelance assassination, pick the one victim in the one week that he was watching a certain child, he had had to decide to raise that child against his better instincts, but leave just enough evidence of his kills behind the Castiel could pick them up twenty years later and piece it all back to him. It was an impossible series, coincidences falling over each other. 

“I think that some things are meant to happen,” Gabriel told his son, “but I think the amazing thing is that it doesn’t matter. It’s what we do with those things that matters.” 

“Free will.” 

“Yeah, exactly. Maybe Castiel and Dean we’re meant to find each other and then make their way to us, but whether that ends in bloodshed or family is up to us.” 

“I vote family.” 

“Me too, kiddo. Me too.” 

~*~ 

The bride wore layers and layers of lace. She smiled a clean white smile, clinging a little to her best man’s sleeve. Fox looked good in his tuxedo, shoulders broad and waist trim. Becky had talked him into a haircut for the event and he’d bowed to her bridely wishes. Garth had been less lenient, clinging to what he called ‘my one beauty’. Gabriel felt justified for still thinking of him as Twitch, even laden as he was with a D.D.S. and his own bride-to-be. 

“Take the picture!” Fox demanded. 

“Don’t rush art!” Gabriel laughed and took the shot. “There. You both look great.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Horn,” Becky gave him a hug that drowned him a profusion of white. “ I know the photographer will do a great job, but it’s nice to have some shots done by family and friends too.” 

“You’re welcome,” Gabriel held her tighter than he’d planned. She was a woman grown now, but she’d always be the pouty tween watching soaps with him in his heart. “You should start calling me Gabe.” 

“Okay, Gabe,” she sniffed suspiciously hard, but her eyes were clear when she pulled away. 

“The band is getting ready,” George, her lanky smiling new husband, held out his hand to her. “You ready for your first dance, Mrs. Rosen-Stein?” 

“Totally,” she beamed and off they went. 

“She’s really happy,” Fox said, a little wistfully. “They’re going to move to the city permanently. She was telling me while she was getting ready.” 

“It’s not a death sentence, kiddo. You’re out there every other weekend anyway.” 

“It’s not the same though, is it? Like my childhood is just...gone with her and Garth.” 

“Yeah, you’re a real old man now,” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to get a bed next to mine at the old folk’s home.” 

“Hilarious,” Fox groaned. 

“You don’t have to stay here for my sake, you know that right?” 

Fox had moved back home after finishing his doctoral degree. His psychiatric practice was doing well, but his offices were a few towns over and Gabriel had started to wonder if the temporary living condition might become pathetically permanent. Not that Gabriel didn’t enjoy having Fox at home, but it was probably looking pretty sad these days to be a twenty-nine year old living with his father. 

“I know,” Fox sighed. “It’s just hard to figure out where to go next. Dean called yesterday to remind me that he has a room for me in Baltimore, but I don’t know if I want to deal with all that. I’d have to close out everything here and then move out there to start all over again. Plus it’d be an urban practice with a lot more competition.” 

“You sure you’re not just freaked out by the idea of living with your brother?” 

“That’s a definitely part of it. And Cas has moved in with him from the way it looks when I visit. I can’t imagine living with both of them. It’s just a lot of alpha male in one room.” 

“Aw, kiddo. It’s cute that you think you’re an alpha. Or that Dean is for that matter. Castiel could probably have you both in line before the end of the first month.” 

“I am totally an alpha!” Fox protested, then stopped dead. “Stop changing the conversation around on me. You know I hate that.” 

“Then don’t make it so easy to do.” 

“I’m a professional therapist,” Fox whined, “I’m supposed to be able to see through other people’s bullshit coping devices.” 

“I hope you don’t call them bullshit to their faces. Doesn’t sound very professional to me.” 

“Haha.” 

“Anyway, none of that works when it comes to your own family, kiddo. Thats what I’m here for: to remind you that you don’t know everything.” 

“What would I do without you?” 

“Go live with your brother and figure yourself out.” 

“I’ve got it figured out. Sort of. Kind of...well the professional part.” 

“Uh huh,” the music picked up, guests standing to applaud as Becky and George started their romantic sway. “Maybe don’t look at it like starting over. Think of it as a long term therapy session with Dean being your main client. If anyone could stand to have their headshrinked a little it’d be him.” 

“Please, he runs away if I even use a vaguely therapeutic term. He thinks it’s all voodoo and I’m going to turn him into a woman if he talks about his feeling for more than a minute and a half. I’d never have guessed that you’d be able to make someone look emotionally advanced in comparison.” 

“Hey!” Gabriel smacked him gently on the arm. “Watch it, buster. I raised you all in touch with your inner stuffed animal and everything. And you were feral when I found you.” 

“I was not!” 

“You were. Used to snarl at me and everything. Hated baths and ate with your hands.” 

“You’re full of lies.” 

“If only,” Gabriel said with mock wistfulness, “Oh those wolf like bygone days.” 

The wedding went on into the night, Jane sobbing and laughing in turns as Gabriel danced with her. Her hair had streaks of grey in it now, but she refused to dye them. The Gazette still thrived under their care though Gabriel could see the end coming now. Once Becky had children, Jane would want to retire to help out and begin her ease into old age. 

Gabriel didn’t feel old yet, maybe he never would. Fox would move on, eventually. Maybe it would be with Dean or maybe the girlfriend that Gabriel suspected existed, but hadn’t yet visually confirmed. It would all come in time, another wedding and children. Gabriel would be there, of course, but he would be free in a way too. 

There was Castiel to consider. Gabriel wasn’t sure what, if anything, he owed to his young cousin, but their relationship had long ago ceased to be about debts. In recent years, Castiel had turned his sights on their family and there was no way that would end with Castiel getting out alive if he went in alone. He’d need help, a partner and it wasn’t Dean’s fight. Not that would stop the Winchester stubbornness, but if Fox moved in with Dean he’d be well distracted for awhile trying to make everything perfect so that Fox would stay. 

Maybe that was the window. Maybe then, Gabriel could begin tying up the ends that he had left so long loose. They could buy a car and drive across the country rooting out the pockets of their family that remained, corrupting everything they touched with their good intentions and murderous hearts. 

Castiel didn’t talk much and Gabriel talked too much. They’d make strange companions on the road, too old for that kind of adventure. They’d stop too often and spend more time arguing then doing anything of use. They’d spend too much of their savings on hotel rooms that were kind to their backs instead of cheaper motels. Maybe Castiel could find a way to stay on the Bureau’s payroll and they could right off all the Hiltons and Marriotts on the government's expense reports. Wouldn’t that beat all? Gabriel with government money in his pocket as he cleansed the earth of his family. 

Gabriel fished his phone of his pocket and walked away from the part. Castiel picked up on the third ring. In the background of the gritty silence that Castiel always began conversations with, Gabriel could make out Dean’s laughter. 

“We should get together soon,” Gabriel launched into the quiet. “I was thinking of planning a reunion.” 

Castiel’s breath slid raspy through the phone into Gabriel’s ear. 

“Why bother?” Castiel huffed. “Why now?” 

“Because it matters to you. Because if we don’t, we’ll never be comfortable. They’ll always be out there waiting. If not for us then for Fox and Dean or god forbid, their kids. Which, just the thought of Dean-o attempting fatherhood curdles my stomach a little, so you know this is a real act of selflessness here.” 

“I think we have to trust them to take care of themselves and their children,” Castiel said quietly. “If we meddle, if we take revenge, then what are we? Still like them. We’ll only feed into that everlasting cycle.” 

“You’re probably right,” Gabriel let go of it all as quickly as it had come. The car, the hotels, the chance to cleanse the earth. “But it would have been something.” 

“Yes, I suppose it would have been. If you’re bored, I’m certain I could find you more productive work. Or perhaps a comfortable cell if you’d like to try your hand at prison.” 

“Generous,” Gabriel laughed. “But no thanks. Want to meet up anyway? I think Fox is starting to seriously consider moving out there with you guys. Might do some good to have some face-to-face time.” 

“We would welcome him. I know that Dean would be...infinitely pleased to have his brother so close to hand.” 

“When you say it that way, it’s fucking creepy and I want to lock him up like a virgin prom queen.” 

“Dean could not corrupt him further than you’ve already managed.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

The night ended with Gabriel and Fox in the pickup truck. Fox refused to drive, citing two long ago drunk beers, but Gabriel wouldn’t tease him for his caution, weirdly pleased by it. It was the kind of mistake Gabriel would’ve made even at thirty, but Fox was careful. Fox was a survivor. Cas was right, it wasn’t Gabriel’s job anymore to guard him from his family or any of the other thousand things out there. 

It started to snow, unseasonably early, as Gabriel wound his way back through the pines. Fox rested his head on the window, one hand curled loosely around the boutonniere he’d taken off his lapel. The white rose looked vividly fresh in the darkness. 

This wasn’t the life that Gabriel had imagined. Hell, he’d never planned to live this long, but Fox yawned broad and deep, eyes drifting closed as they drove home and it was the only place that Gabriel wanted to be.


End file.
